


Call Me

by dciphoenix



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Depressing, F/M, Food Porn, Holidays, Older Man/Younger Woman, Petyr is a creepy buisnessman, Petyr's grumpy, Summer, Teenage Drama, Uncle!Petyr, Vacation Time, Winter, but not that depressing, emotional whiplash, flying the creepyship flag, so much drama, teen Sansa, winter is here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-01
Updated: 2017-10-05
Packaged: 2018-09-21 10:15:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9543314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dciphoenix/pseuds/dciphoenix
Summary: After the deaths of her parents and her late Aunt Lysa; the job of caring for the oldest Stark girl had fallen into Petyr's hands. Not that he minds.When teenage Sansa Stark goes to stay with her Uncle Baelish over the holidays, will he succumb to his desires or will this be his doomed relationship with Catelyn Stark all over again?





	1. Home Sweet Home

Petyr watches as a yellow taxi slows to a halt outside his house, there's a brief pause when the passenger pays their fare and thanks the driver. “Showtime…” He mumbles and starts to make his way out of the kitchen and out of the back door. Sansa emerges, climbing out of the taxi, slinging a padded rucksack on her back. Her hair is longer than the last time he had seen her and the evening sun turns it a crisp auburn and she’s possibly taller, which bodes well. Seeing as he had stopped growing many years ago, perhaps too many to be entertaining a girl of her age and wealth. She stands on the sidewalk, watching the taxi sped away with a hunched position telling him she feels out of place, unwelcome. But he knows she is anything but unwelcome.

Petyr takes her hand, tells her she can stay as long as she wants, how she can decorate her room, though more importantly, how beautiful she looks. Petyr easily takes her face in his hands, gentle yet commanding and leans in graciously and feels her soft, pouty lips against his. It's warm and fleeting and over all too soon. Sansa blushes deeply when he parts. “You truly look more beautiful each time I see you…” He utters and ushers her inside. Sansa bounds up the stairs into his home, his vast kitchen meets her gaze, made out of the finest craftsmanship and oak and filled with all the latest appliances. He gives a knowing smile and takes her bags. Once inside, Sansa gasps at the size of his home, her eyes wide.

“This house is wonderful. You live here all by yourself?” If that was a way of asking if he's single or in a relationship. It worked. He had never been a modest man, and never one to shy away from a compliment.

“Yeah, I do.” She's right by all accounts. An empty, concrete home filled with nothing. Built on lies. Standing at three stories tall with a large pool in what would have been the front garden, so it’s no wonder she feasts her eyes. “You can always stay with me, you know you can.”

“Would you like me to show you to your room?” Sansa smiles thankfully when Petyr puts her things down near the sofa in the sitting room and nervously plays with the hem of her dress, barely touching the top of her knees. They ascend the stairs through the lounge, Petyr briefly pondering if he should show her his room after hers, or if she would be smart enough to make that assumption on her own. His bedroom being at the end of the corridor which runs in an L shape from the top of the stairs with hers being closest to the bathroom, and the stair, the top floor mainly being empty attic space.

Petyr opens the door and shows her the overly lavish bathroom. At one point he had the mental note on building a mini bar in the far corner near the shower and window sill. It being a perfect place to rest a glass of wine or a bottle after a stressful day at work. She admires the giant walk-in shower, dances her fingers over the showerhead fixed with several knobs and buttons. The flooring was a beautiful, cold marble slab with gentle lighting. The walls were a hard black in contrast to the floor and a massive mirror hung majestically above a chest of drawers topped with toiletries and towels and other commodities. Since he was a young boy, he wasn’t the type of man to hold onto things with sentimental quality, usually overpowered with necessity, honor, want. Especially after the death of Lysa, having knick-knacks lying around reminding him of any dead ex partners wasn’t an idea he wished to entertain.

She's giddy, and excited when it comes to her bedroom. Sansa throws open the door and launches inside, flopping face down on the plush duvet and pillow, she rolls over slowly and thanks him. “I didn't have the time to move the desk, but I'm pretty sure you will have use of it, it was originally for my laptop but I can use it anywhere.” Petyr shrugs. After the deaths of both her parents and her late aunt, the task of caring for the Stark girl fell to Petyr during the breaks from university. Not that he at all minded. He had moved the filing cabinet and all his books on finance, economy and the like into his room to make space for her single bed and whatever home comforts she decided to bring with her. 

“It's a beautiful room, Petyr. It’s bigger than my dorm room, I'm so grateful.” Her eyes quickly turn sad like she had come across a horrible headline in a newspaper. Petyr then realises he's watching her walk through her memories. The last time she would have had her own bedroom in a house to call a home would have been with her family. Back in Winterfell. Such a long time ago. 

Petyr slaps the side of the door frame and leaves the room before he does something he regrets. He would regret pulling her into his arms, telling her that he's her family, that he can protect her, feed her. Be the family she's lost. 

But could he feed her his lies, too? It would be so easy and painless, she wouldn't feel a thing.

Petyr exhales slowly, standing on the landing mindlessly picking at the buckle of his watch strap, the clock face turned away from him, uninteresting. He moseys back down to the kitchen and reaches for a bottle of pomegranate juice he'd grown fond of. A life of travelling and growing wealth has its rewards. He unscrews and hears the fizzy drink hiss before pouring into two glasses. It's a bitter drink, mixed with grapefruit and raspberry but it's one he enjoys. Petyr switches on his plasma screen television mounted on the bare brick fireplace in the lounge. Another pointless mod con he’d invested in for making his business associates and dates compliment him on. Complete with packages, and built blu ray player. Standing at fifty in inches and black as sin. 

A shopping channel comes on over-embellishing a hair care product for balding men. Petyr huffs and swiftly channel-hops until he finds a channel for teenagers, he cycles through several channels before coming across MTV as a heavily inked youth with long, black hair vents about advertising band merch and concert tickets. Pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose, be turns up the volume, hoping it’s suitable.

Once back in the kitchen, he fixes himself a tuna sandwich, on a bed of artisan rye bread, with fresh lettuce, tomato and olive tapenade. He knows, deep down some people he knew would say his interests in fine food was snobbish for a man in his line of work.They could all go to hell as far as he was concerned. Petyr takes a hefty bite out of the sandwich, wishing he’d had some halloumi cheese to grill before devouring another chunk. 

Sansa sits and watches the show with strained enthusiasm, she's slouched in the corner of the couch with her legs bent underneath her, the remote resting in her lap. “That smells nice.”  
She says. “You could have had one if you wanted…”  
Sansa shakes her head, and he moves over to sit next to her. “I ate on the train, so I’m not really hungry. I’d be happy if we just sat and watched TV for a while.” Sansa shrugs. It sounds like a question, even though he knows better.  
Petyr watches the screen for several minutes. “What the fuck are we even watching?”  
She giggles. “MTV cribs. They show you around celebrities houses and stuff, I like it, I watch it with my friend Margaery sometimes.”  
“Margaery who...?  
“Tyrell. She takes some of my classes with me.”  
He nods and chews slowly, thoughtfully. The name certainly rang a bell, maybe through her parents. 

Ten o'clock comes and she's resting peacefully, her head rests against the arm of the sofa, with her feet outstretched and almost touching his hip, a living image of relaxation if ever he saw one. Petyr scrolls through his phone, there's a few emails from Olyvar from work and one from Varys which he instantly puts into the trash folder without reading. He could easily manage any problems from the comfort of his home if they should arise, more time to spend with Sansa that way. Petyr sighs. “I should get some shut eye soon, I suggest you do the same.” He smiles, self-deprecatingly, knowing all too well he has zero control over her. 

Sansa only seems to sense this and rolls her eyes and it only makes him more amused. Petyr sucks in a breath and heaves himself up, and off the sofa. He leisurely takes the stairs and makes his bed, having left it in a shambles before changing into more comfortable attire for sleeping and hanging up a black silk gown monogrammed with a letter ‘P’ over the heart space.

About to get into bed, he hears a gentle tap at his bedroom door, knowing it could only be Sansa, he calls to invite her in. She makes her way over, covered head to toe in a matching pink pyjama set with small sheep and crescent moons dotted all over the fabric. Petyr finds himself watching her bright blue eyes take in every minute detail of his bedroom. The king size leather bed straight at eye level, with egyptian cotton sheets and bedside tables with a matching antique pine, double door wardrobe on his right. A well-used, cold, hard filling cabinet on his left and a Blake chair at the far side, beneath the window. She bites her lip and clings to the door.

“Um, I always find it hard to sleep in a strange place on the first night. Could I bunk with you? Just this one time...please?” Gods be good. 

Her eyes are fearful, wider than when she was stood on his doorstep several hours ago. Petyr sits on the edge of his bed, knowing he could hardly turn her away, although spending a night with an unrelated female in his bed, barely out of her teens wasn’t sizing up to be a good notion, either. He tries to sound serious, and rubs at the scruff he calls a beard, mustering up all the bravado he could. “Well, I suppose you could...if you don’t go making a habit out of it.” Petyr glares, then smirks. Letting her know she could come and go as she pleased.


	2. The Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petyr gets to grips with letting Sansa stay with him.

Dawn moves easily into the room, casting cold sunlight over the headboard and up the wall, Petyr grunts when he opens his eyes and shields himself from the sunlight underneath the sheets. Rolling over, he finds Sansa's warm body, with her back turned from him, still sleeping soundly, her arms sprawled over the sheet and across the pillow. Petyr smiles and carefully, deftly slides out of bed, yawning as he tiptoes to the shower, grabbing yesterday's clothes off the floor on the way out, lest dressing in front of a half awake Sansa in his bed.

After showering and shaving, he dresses, in the soft grey marl jumper and black jeans from the day before. Not fifteen minutes later, he finds her in the exact same position as he left her. “Sansa,” he shakes her arm and she groans, “I’m making breakfast, you want anything?”

Sansa furrows her brow, and peers up at him. “Mm, whatever you’re having, I’m not fussed.” She mumbles then moves her face back into the pillow. 

“So, eggs, beans, sausage, bacon and fried bread, then?” He does his best to sound serious again. 

She grimaces at that and moans. “Yuk, no, just toast or something simple.”

Once Sansa was up and dressed breakfast had passed reasonably quick, he had poured out orange juice for them both, informed her how to use the Tassimo coffee machine and left her to make whatever she wanted while he answered emails from work after eating. She’s rifling through his old CD collection, sitting opposite him on a square puff, matching his black leather sofa. She laughs to herself at his music taste and he merely brushes it off replying he’ll listen to anything more than once if he likes it. “Are you still seeing that Joffrey boy?” Petyr asks, taking a sip of coffee. 

Sansa pauses, sharply, her back ramrod straight, a Portishead CD in her hands. “No. Not anymore.” She says and it sends alarm bells ringing in his head. 

“Oh? I thought you two were getting serious.” He knows all too well what Joffrey Baratheon was capable of. Vicious, sadistic little boy that he was. Petyr had taken the matter into his own hands before something happened to the eldest Stark girl; and planted a bag of coke in his car. Knowing it’ll go a long way in trying to get someone convicted of battery. 

Her expression is vacant, her lips tight. “Well, something happened. A few months ago. He was arrested, for drugs I think and they said he used to beat up people, like prostitutes and some of the kids at school.” 

Petyr chews his lip, feels his blood boil, deep inside, he lowers his head before asking. “Sansa, did he ever hit you?”

She shrugs. “I guess….but... I don’t know, I just thought he was always angry all the time. Only you and Margaery knew I was dating him. Petyr,” Her eyes are suddenly round and brimming with tears. “Did you have something to do with it? His arrest, I mean.”

Petyr scoffs and takes another sip. “I don’t know why you’d think of me doing such a thing, Sweetling. Maybe your friend told someone.” Secrets and lies come to him all too easy these days. 

She slowly shakes her head. “She was just as shocked as I was.” Petyr looks away, the room was becoming too hot and too small all at the same time. Thinking fast, he tosses her the TV remote.

“Think nothing more of it, love. I’m sorry I asked, I didn’t know it was still a sore spot, go watch your shows.” then leaves the room without another word. 

She watches TV for the rest of the day and raides his fridge for food whenever she's hungry, all the while he sits with his laptop, occasionally glancing over the screen at her, figuring out her state of mind, if she’s enjoying her time with him or not. The next time he looks up, she's watching Taxi Driver, a microwavable burger in her hands.

“Do you think you’ll be able to sleep in your own bed tonight?” Petyr saves a spreadsheet and adds sums and figures to it from the last month.

Sansa waits until swallowing a mouthful of burger before replying. “Yeah, I’m usually alright. It’s just for the first night for some reason.” He’s happy with her answer and moves the laptop off his lap to the vacant space on the sofa. 

Petyr watches the screen for several long movements.  
“Do you think you'd be a good taxi driver?” Petyr smirks. 

“Heh, yeah as long as they tip me alright. What about you?” He asks. 

Sansa wrinkles her nose. “Don't know. Can't drive.”

“Would you like to?” 

She’s pouts before replying “Would love to, just don't have the cash.”

Petyr catches her gaze, and holds it when he says, with a wave of his hand as if he held a magic wand anointing her with money. “Don't go worrying about that, I'll pay for it.” 

“Petyr-! You can’t do that! Why would you?” She gasps, crawling forwards on the sofa to wrap herself around him.

“I want you to be happy.” Truth was the only times he ever saw the girl as of late was at funerals which never turned out to be happy occasions. She always hung her head, never making eye contact, usually looking at the floor. “And I know this'll make you happy.”

“I can't thank you enough.” Her eyes flit to his and his mouth then back again. Ignoring the heat in his belly, he hugs himself to her instead of reaching for her lips. Relishing himself in her warmth, praying she'll never push him away.


	3. Misery Loves Company

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petyr decides his life is much brighter with Sansa playing a part in it.

Petyr finds her using the shower the next morning. She’s in for nearly half an hour before coming out, babbling how she didn’t pack a towel or toiletries and how she had to use his instead. Around midday, Sansa's laying on his sofa in casual clothes with her back against the armrest, her feet on his lap. Gently massaging her feet, he admits to himself he’s surprised she didn’t practically jump out of her skin the minute he touched her.

“How's your family doing?” Petyr easily asks, like they’ve known each other for years, watching how her damp hair was starting to curl from letting it dry naturally.

Sansa smiles at the thought. “Good, Jon’s got his job with the police still, he goes on about how he doesn’t like the uniform and how it’s always cold but he loves it really, and he’s good at it, too. I’ve not heard from Arya or Bran or little Rickon, I guess they’ve got a lot of school work going on and stuff. They write to my dorm now and then. Birthday cards and things like that which is nice.” She cranes her neck to look at him. “What about you?”

Petyr chews at the inside of his mouth before responding, “I get postcards and phone calls from Robin from time to time. Now and then I’ll have Lord Royce putting him on the phone because he can’t dial it, or he’s afraid to use it or something.” Petyr grumbles. “He’s doing alright, I should go to see him sometime.”

“It’s not all that far away.” She says, good natured.

“I know.” The truth was the boy exhausted him, conversations with him were often random, neverending or awkward and a struggle to even make conversation in the first place. Especially since the unfortunate ‘accident’ with his mother.

“Are you over Lysa? Um, her death I mean? Sorry, I don’t mean to be rude.” 

Petyr exhales sharply and adds a little more pressure, jams his thumbs into her sole, sees her toes flex. “It’s okay, sweetling, yes I am. She was a loving woman, but I know she would want me to be happy. She wouldn’t want me mourning to the point I can’t think about anything else.”

”I know what you mean. I felt like that for a while. After…” She falls silent, looking at the floor.

Petyr decides to leave the subject well enough alone. “Hm, I'm gonna go and check the pool. Gets clogged if I don't see to it now and then. Should really hire a guy to do it.” He pats her foot and she moves it with a disgruntled groan. “Are you hungry?” 

“Could I make dinner tonight? I've had a look in the fridge, I know what you have in.” Petyr looks her over carefully, watching how her eyes brighten at the prospect of doing something for him for a change. 

“Okay, just don't burn the place down.” Sansa beams and throws herself at him. 

“I promise. You can trust me.” He gives her a kiss on the forehead and grabs his coat, not once looking back over his shoulder. 

Close to an hour later, he'd checked the pool and strained the pool for dead flies and checked the chlorine levels. Afterwards, moving into the garage and deciding on doing a quick whip around with a small handheld hoover, getting all the crap out of the carpets and off the seats in the car.

Petyr checks his phone for the first time in what felt like hours. He finds a missed a call from Ros, one of his girls from work. He curses and rings her back, it goes straight to voicemail. “Ros, it's me. I told you not to call me this weekend. Sansa still doesn't know what I do for a living and I'd like it to stay that way. Text. Or email me in the future, okay?” He hangs up without another word, knowing he can’t afford to break what he had slowly built with Sansa over the the past several days. Petyr curses again and digs his fingernails into his phone until it hurts before locking up the garage and heading back inside.


	4. A Clash of Kin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa's interest in Petyr come to a head.

The lounge is warm and inviting, and he can practically feel the heat from the central heating system on his face. He strips off his sheepskin outer jacket, collared and warm against the winter cold and tosses it haphazardly onto one of the chairs surrounding the plasma TV before turning away.

A wooden table greets him with an array of freshly cooked food and cutlery and freshly poured sparkling white wine. There's a sound of a scuffle from the upstairs landing before Sansa raises her voice to yell down the stairs. “I'll be down in a minute, I've already had mine.” Followed by the slam of a door.

“You couldn't have waited for me?” He half shouts but it's good natured and he runs a hand through his hair before seating at the grand oak table. He starts tucking into the streaming piece of fish and hot vegetables, cutting a chunk off the fish currently on his plate and tentatively taking a first bite. His tastebuds decide the piece of fish is sea bass bathed in a beautifully seasoned sauce of garlic and lemon. Several minutes pass as he tops up the wine, checks his phone for emails or any missed calls again before turning it off and shoving it in his trouser pocket. 

“Impatient girl. Late for everything.” Grousing, he shoves in the last mouthful he eyes the black marble kitchen tops for anything to eat afterwards, usually developing a sweet tooth after a belly full of savoury food. Even though the wine was sweet enough. 

“What's for dessert?” He yells, not expecting any reply, nor any dessert for that matter; seeing as she'd skipped off upstairs after her own meal. 

“Well...” there's a sound that could be her feet on the carpet stair. Probably muffled by her slipper socks while she slides her hand down the bannister. “I thought about making a cheesecake. Maybe chocolate. Maybe mandarin. Or pomegranate.”

He admits he likes the sound of that and turns his head at the sound of her nearby, and almost takes a double take at her. She wears a slouchy black t-shirt that shows off her belly button, and a soft hip-high velvet skirt that hugs her hips just about barely covering her legs. She rounds on him, when he notices the delicate peach lip gloss and her hair hanging more over one shoulder than the other. “But, then I thought you could have me.”

“Sansa--” The words die in his mouth before he's even set down his fork. “We've talked about this.”

Her fingers play with the back of his dining chair as she stands in front of him, sultry, unrelenting in a way he almost found daunting. If he wasn't him. “No. You talked, I sat and listened.”

“You deserve a nice, sweet young boy that you can spend the rest of your life with. Not someone old enough to be your dad.” He laughs at that, but knows he doesn't find it funny. “Not me, sweetheart, never me.”

“I don't want a nice, sweet boy...” Venom drips off her words, throwing his own right back in his face, something twists inside his gut, something primal, wanting. “I want you.”

He wonders if he should be hesitant. Careful.  
But ultimately doesn’t. 

Her bare knee touches his, and wills his hands itch to touch her, to find out what her skin tastes like. Though, settles for her gently pouted lips instead. Reaching for her shoulder as a sign of invitation and his mouth is on hers, surprising as it is slow and passionate. Sansa’s plump lips pull at his, as she stands couple inches taller than him.

Something tells him he should be more hungry than this but there is something provocative about the way she is leading him. Swiftly, elegantly, with the grace of a swan, Sansa lowers herself onto him. Hears the old oak chair creaks under her added weight the minute she's flush against him, Petyr grabs her at the waist, fingers digging into her ribs, prying her off him. 

“Sansa, no.” He takes in a deep breath, like a drowning man searching for air. "Hell, I feel like a teenager again, you've got me so…" he sighed and relaxed his tense shoulders. “If I was twenty years younger or you were ten years older, I’d probably give you what you want.”

“I thought that…” There's a weight in her eyes when she looks at him and awkwardly moves off him. “I feel stupid now.” 

“Don't,” he says, narrowing his eyes and catches her before she moves away completely, Petyr cups her cheek and kisses her gently, lovingly. “It's fine.”

She retires for the night not half an hour later. He finds her undressing, wearing nothing but matching pink lace underwear. “Sansa.” He says it like it's an invitation for an apology. She holds a baggy t-shirt in her hands with some swirly writing printed across it. Looking up, biting her lip, flustered, confused, she quickly pulls it over her head. “I didn't mean to intrude.’ 

“It's alright…” He takes his time coming into her room, her private place, feeling unwelcome, like he's the one out of place now. 

Petyr takes her hands in his slightly larger ones and sits on the end of her bed. “Sweetheart, you need to know why I can't touch you. If someone was to see us, in public. They'll know I'm your uncle, your guardian.” He touches her cheek. “You can guess what they'll think we're doing is impure, wrong in their eyes.” 

Sansa nods, dully. 

“I wouldn't be able to kiss you or---” He finishes. Seeing the light die in her eyes. “We wouldn’t be free.” He touches the ends of her hair, currently in a plait over her shoulder.

He skips breakfast the next morning, walks down stairs to find her having already eaten hers, dressed and with her shoes on. Rounding the corner to the kitchen, he spots her rucksack slung underneath the table, busting with clothes from the week passed. 

She looks up, expression stiffened by his arrival. “I've rang for the taxi, it won’t be long now.” She drains her glass and sets it on a coaster. 

“I could have drove you.” There’s a note of farewell in her voice, one he can’t help feeling he’s attributed to the night before. 

Frowning, her gaze flits from the outside window overlooking the main road and at the floor. “It’s alright.”

Sansa puts her rucksack in the taxi boot and turns to look Petyr, her eyes are soft, her lips tight and she looks almost sad at the prospect to returning to her friends. 

“You’re always welcome here, you know that.” He knows she’ll want him to say it again at some point in the distant future. Either over the phone or in a text.

Sansa nods and reaches to hug him, smells her perfume; flowers and innocence and feels her warm, lithe body for the last time. But something gnaws at his soul, something impure. Because it’s not enough, it’s never enough. 

Petyr presses his lips to hers, tastes her, searches for her spirit one last time, taking and giving and filling the spaces in between. He bites at her lip as his hands find her shoulders, pulling her closer and pushing her away. Telling her to flee though showing her she’s his. His knee nudges hers apart the second she grants him access to her mouth, parting her lips with a minute gasp when he decides to end it. He tastes her on his lips with a sly chuckle. 

“I’ve been wanting to that since you first came here.” She eyes him, panting slightly, opened mouthed as Petyr tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. He nods to the taxi driver, drumming his thumbs against the wheel. “You don’t want to keep him waiting, love. ”

“Yeah, I know...I should...” She turns away like nothing was amiss, opens the taxi door and shuffles inside. Sansa says a goodbye with a wave of her hand, without words, without tears and he watches from the sidewalk as her yellow taxi glares bright sunlight before it takes a corner and shields her from him. 

Later that night, Petyr easily flicks through a paperback of Orwell's 1984 in bed, he blinks slowly, the contents becoming uninteresting several hours ago. Petyr reaches for a heavy cut glass of scotch on the bedside table.

He takes a sip, then a few more for good measure, feeling sleep slowly blanketing itself over him. His mobile laying face down on the bed buzzes and flashes slowly, indicating a new message.

Swallowing hard and picks up the phone, the book falling into his lap as he did. He grunts at losing his place in the book, noting he should have used a bookmark rather than dog-earing a page while thumbing through the lock screen on his phone. 

He stops as a message from Sansa fills up the screen. 

> I miss you. x

Suddenly his tongue feels too fat for his mouth, choking on his words like she was right there with him, watching. He sends back;

> We’ll meet up again soon, Easter time sound good to you? 

He waits precious seconds for the reply, feels his stomach twist into an uncomfortable shape. Wonders about her reply, wonders what she’s wearing, hopes he doesn't sound too needy, too wanton. His phone bleeps again and it's what his wildest dreams were made of. 

> Perfect. x

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, please review when you read. I can't stress enough how much I need feedback.


	5. Sweet Treats and Sansa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petyr and Sansa reunite for Easter

Winter could still be felt in the air, heavy rain drummed fiercely on the plastic roof, as fog still hung on from the frosty morning mere hours before. Petyr wraps up warm, choosing a heavy black overcoat over jeans and two layers. Watching as the busy crowds came and went over the raucous soundtrack of trains announcing their arrival and then departing, the train station is a grubby looking thing, thankfully not personally having used it. 

He had agreed to meet Sansa off the train persuading her it'll save her money, and he would buy her dinner afterwards if she would let him. Come half an hour later and the chill was starting to seep into his bones, even though it had stopped raining, an impatient child cries somewhere in the distance while two love birds snuggle up against the cold not five paces away. Breathing out a lungful of air and watching it form a cloud a few inches from his face, before quickly stuffing his hands in the oversized pockets of his coat. He couldn't fathom why Sansa and most of the students frequented it to get to and from college during the holidays. 

Petyr being all the more glad he doesn’t use it after paying the obscene amount of car parking fees, although the upside of such a place was the surrounding areas were littered with fast food chains and coffee shops, and hoping to persuade Sansa to visit one with him was high on his priority.  
A giant, angular metal snake grinds and clunks past him mere moments later, crawling to a halt. Mainly silver in colour apart from a flash of side by side black and red forming a lightening strike across the sides, beneath the windows and across the folding doors. A sea of people file out, mainly teens busting out as soon as they could to avoid getting caught outside for too long.

There’s a brief tingling of his skin as Petyr spots her before she sees him, and tries to look at her without being obvious. She briskly makes her way over, her ginger hair tied back, but still loose around her shoulders, wearing a padded coat and winter boots. A slow smile forms on her lips as he reaches for her hands. Her lips are chapped, her cheeks and little nose are red from the bitter air. She melds herself to him, relishing in their shared warmth. “Hey, you alright?”

“Yeah. But, Gods, it’s cold.” She moans.

“I know, let’s go somewhere warmer.” Thanking the gods, the train station cafe was less than a five minute walk away. They order soon as they near enough sit down, at an empty booth, overlooking the railway and turn off from the busy main street. Grabbing a nearby waitress, to take their orders, she plays with a napkin while ordering. Two coffees and pancakes with syrup for the lady. He groans inwardly at the prospect of watching Sansa lick maple syrup off of her fork. She nudges her knee against his when he’d not spoken to her. “You’re quiet. You doing okay?”

Quirking an eyebrow and smiling, he replied, “Great. Nothing could be better.”

Afterwards, politely thanking the waitress when she comes over and serves them coffee, he takes a sip. It's strong, and bitter but far from his strength. Sansa asks for extra cream, and he watches as confusion crosses her features as to where her food got to. Crossing his arms over the chest, he asks. “Thought I was buying you dinner? Pancakes are a funny looking dinner.”

Sansa shrugs her shoulders. “I've been a good girl this term, I deserve a treat.” Their waitress returns with her steaming pancakes smelling of butter and syrup on the side in a glass jug. 

Petyr feels his mouth twitch. “Kids these days...” She kicks him lightly underneath the table, grinning and he loves it.

It's dark by the time they leave. His car glints like liquid onyx reflecting in the golden glow of the streetlights. An expensive looking sedan he'd once bought off a work colleague. Having notorious business partners often beat keeping friends. He speedily unlocks the four door after hearing Sansa grumble about the chilly air, clutching her coat to her chest and climbs in.

The ride back home to the Eerie takes less than twenty minutes. She shrugs off her coat, laying over the back of the sofa, when she comes to him, her eyes are tight and her brow creased. ‘‘I’m going to bed, I can’t keep my eyes open anymore. If I do. I'll pass out.” She whimpers, kisses him on the cheek and he watches her leave.

“Goodnight…” Petyr says to the empty room. He tosses his own coat on the couch and follows in her footsteps. Once meters to his bed he unfastened his watch and took off his silver rings, usually wearing them when out and about, no point in flashing his cash if no-one was around to see it. The black turtle neck jumper falls where he throws it before peeling off his damp, blue jeans and practically falling into bed afterwards, sleep pulls at his tired body not half an hour later, thankfully for its embrace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thinking of continuing this. But as for now, this could easily be an epilogue if I wanted it to be.


	6. Secrets and Waffles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been immensely flattered by all the kudos and bookmarks I've decided to continue this! After much forethought; I realised I ended it out of fear of it consuming me rather than writing a story with an ending and conclusion. I found I'd created a much bigger breathing room that I had originally planned. 
> 
> On with the show. :3

He's rudely woken in what feels like the early hours the next morning by a weight on his chest, and something tickling his face and neck. “What the--?” Petyr cautiously opens one eye then the other, groggy and voice rough with sleep. 

Sansa leans over him in mismatching pyjamas, thick ginger hair mussed in his face, looking irritated and beautiful. “Come on! You slept in! I'm bored…” She whines and shifts her weight, she pouts her pursed lips even further.

Groaning, he rolls over as best as he can and stuffs his face under the sheets, away from her toying gaze and the suddenly offensive sunlight. “Respect your elders, woman. I'm tired, I was running after you all of yesterday.” 

“Please, pretty please. I'll make you coffee. Just the way you like it.” She purrs, the weight over his chest is gone when he feels her slide over to his side of the bed and annoys him further. Sansa curls herself around him on his bed, feels her warmth through his bedsheets, wondering if she thinks about the night they shared together. She lays on her side, he could feel her eyes on him, watching his every move, wondering when he'll eventually stir. 

“Go on then.” He sighs, resounded.

“Milk no sugar, right.” She leans up, on her elbows and kisses him gently, fatherly. Certainly not the heated kisses they'd shared many weeks previously. Sansa whines in discomfort and pulls backwards, much too sharply for his liking. Was she uncomfortable when being intimate with him? “Itchy beard.” She moans and touches it with her fingertips, a featherlight touch. 

“Yeah. Sorry. Forgot to shave it last night, was too busy looking after you.” He rubs it, gets a feel for how long it had gotten. 

“Don't! I like it.” She half shouts in fear and he feels a warmth spread from the inside. 

“Well, I'd have to trim it eventually. I'll end up looking like a fucking pirate. Apart from the gold teeth.” Momentarily shutting his eyes before stretching, he thinks. He wasn't against growing a long beard. Though resembling a grubby looking stateless pirate wasn't on his bucket list. He hears her giggle and snuggles into his side, being obviously anything but uncomfortable with him. She laughs at something and it's a wonderful sound.

“I'll have to start calling you pirate Petyr!” She chimes and Petyr snakes an arm around her waist. Stifles a laugh and gives her a gentle shove off his bed.  
…...  
She's eating waffles with honey when he finally moseyed downstairs. He smells it before he sees it, yawns and rubs at his goatee. “Coffee's over there.”

Sansa points at his spot on the sofa and the small wooden coffee table next to it. He sips it, finds it good and strong. Not too sweet. She offers him a waffle and he takes it and eats it with his bare hands. “I should make something to eat, too. I'll do it when I've showered.” Petyr grabs fresh towels, leaving a pile of them to warm the day before. Knowing Sansa would be wanting a hot shower every morning until the foreseeable future.

It takes him less than twenty minutes to shower, after smelling of black mint shower gel, he's fully awake. Denies himself a quick shave, after Sansa’s suggestion and changes his clothes, chooses black lounge pants and a Ralph Lauren t-shirt. 

He's halfway down the stairs when Sansa throws his phone at him. He misses catching it and it hits the floor, watches it skate a few inches before looking at her, eyes red and puffy. 

“Your phone buzzed, I didn't want you getting a missed call.” She sniffles. “I had a wonderful conversation with one of your girls. You know, at your brothel.” She spits the word out like it tastes foul. 

Tentatively, he picks up the phone, gives it a once over for scratches and marks and steps forwards towards her, notices how she shrinks in size a little, hunches her shoulders, tenses. His mind races, wonders at the conversation she must have had, makes a mental note to chastise Ros when he sees her next.

Petyr grabs her wrist and her yelps in surprise. From the look in her eyes, it was difficult to tell if she expected him to punch her in the face.

“First of all, it's none of your business what I do to earn money. Second of all if it wasn't for girls like that, we wouldn't have that fancy television and the shower that you enjoy using so much.” He huffs out a breath. “I don’t see why you’re so upset, my girls are well looked after, I give them free services to see the doctors, they’re well protected. It would be a completely different story if they were working on the streets.” Petyr says, low and rough. 

“Now, if I let you go, are you going to hit me?” She slowly shakes her head, eyes still brimming with tears. Shakily taking a breath, she takes a step back moving her wrist into her chest. Sansa quickly moves away and runs up the stairs. Something inside himself told him that he wouldn't see her until the evening. 

************

It is several hours later until he sees her again. He’s sent her a text informing he’s made dinner and she’s more than welcome to warm it up in his microwave. “Could you drive me into town later on?” 

Her voice was soft, kind. The type a child uses before asking for candy or a new phone. He wonders if she’s eaten, or if she wanted to clear the air with him first. He was willing to let her eat her food upstairs away from him if she was still in a mood. 

“Suppose. What are you wanting?” He doesn't look at her, instead, watches the cooking show he'd lost interest in several minutes ago. 

“Um, well, Margaery has a name day party and I promised I'd go.” She plays with her fingers.

“A party…” Petyr exhales slowly through his nose, painting a lewd picture in his mind of what could possibly go wrong. “So, alcohol.” And boys.

“We wouldn't have to stay long, I've got her a gift, a necklace. And I promised I'd go, please.” She says all in a rush and her eyes are wide, excited.

Petyr sighs, knowing he'd already lost a losing battle. “I don't see why not.” 

Several hours later, he climbs the stairs and stops a few feet outside from her bedroom, he hears her move, probably getting dressed or changing her outfit for the third time. He briefly wonders if this what it would be like if he had children of his own, or if he had fathered Sansa instead of her own family. Would she have been as beautiful? 

The new rose coloured lamp casts a cosy glow over her room, his office turned bedroom really did not look too bad once she had gotten her claws into it. She had added concert posters and small blue tacked pictures of her siblings dot the walls here and there, from the last time he had been inside. She had successfully turned it into a place she could love and relax. 

Sansa watches him watch her from the doorway. “What do you think?” She says over still facing her floor-length mirror, dropping to one hip and smiling as superficially as she could.

Petyr looks her up and down. “It’s not bad. For only meeting your friend.” His voice is low, stern, puts emphasis on the word ‘friend’. Sansa rolls her eyes. “Promise me something, okay? No giving boys your number.”

Sansa laughs humorlessly. “Why? Would it make you jealous if I did?” Sansa asks, smirking and there’s a playfulness to her eyes that he imagines she had learnt from him.

“Would you like it if I was?” Petyr holds her gaze for a few paces longer than normal before she nervously looks away before continuing. “No accepting drinks from people you don’t know.” He continues in a more reserved tone of voice. 

Sansa huffs out a breath and puts down the tube of mascara she had just been applying. “Petyr--”

“And no smoking either.” He had to put his foot down at one point before his adopted daughter slash cousin went AWOL and completely off the rails. 

She smiles sweetly and it’s his undoing. “Technically that’s three things.” He creeps forward and reaches for her waist, but instead of grabbing her, he pinches the bottom of her skirt and pulls it down a few inches, feels his fingers accidentally on purpose graze her thigh. 

“And if I really was your uncle, I wouldn't let you go out dressed like that.” It's a point he had to make. In this position, she would be able to feel his breath on the back of her neck. 

“If you really were my uncle, you wouldn’t be touching me like that.” She bites back, snarky, proud. Not meeting his eyes in the mirror. 

“Would you rather I didn’t?” There’s a beat and she leans back, so his hands are full of her, the ends of her hair lightly against his cheek. It’s an honest question for once, one he’d already have an inkling about while watching her reflection in the mirror. Suddenly curious. 

He knows her answer before she opens her mouth. “No.”

The ride into the Vale takes almost thirty minutes, the club is a massive, beige building with music booming out into the street. A boxy, glass and steel building with a jutting out entrance a few metres in front of the main area. Getting out of the car, moonlight reflects off puddles in the road, half wishing he had brought his coat instead of rushing outside in what he was already wearing. 

Once inside, a burly looking bouncer in a tight black t-shirt and slacks stands guard outside giant, black double doors. “Who's this handsome devil?” This was most likely Margaery. And Margaery gives him the once over. She has cat-like features, green eyes and full lips, blonde hair worn in long, tumbling curls. She has a full face whereas Sansa still had a childlike innocence to her. It made her look a few years older than Sansa and he briefly wondered if she really was. 

“This is my Uncle, Petyr. I've been staying with him over the holidays.” Smiling shyly, her friend grips her arm, fondly. 

“Well, Uncle Petyr, help yourself to drinks. Everything here's free.” Her friend warmly offers and whisks Sansa away bluntly in search of nibbles and drinks. He watches when Sansa pulls out her perfectly wrapped gift and hands it to her. Petyr turns away, knowing she's in safe hands. Over twenty people dance inside and surely, a family like the Tyrells has private security hidden away. Perhaps in disguise as the bartenders or the guests. Petyr swiftly waves over the nearest waiter and orders a drink, the music being a bit too loud and modern for his tastes, ordering a rum and coke, hoping it will drown out the sound of the music. 

The party passes fairly easily, leaving only stragglers and Sansa is left standing. She's since helped herself to the name day cake when her best friend had blown out the candles and cut a fairly large piece for her to take home. They'd hugged and kissed and taken selfies. She touches her friend on the shoulder, taking a seat next to her on the tall bar stool, and points to another slice of cake and smiles before wrapping it in a bright coloured napkin and puts it in her handbag. 

Sansa comes over and he looks away, paints on the best nonchalant expression that he can muster and pretends he wasn't watching her. “Hey, I asked Margaery if you could have a piece of cake.” Sansa cheerfully says, he takes a sip of his rum and coke and takes it off her hands.

He delicately unwraps the edible slice, there are white frosting and pink icing sugar layers. And the cake itself is a dark brown colour which could only be chocolate. Taking a bite, he finds it moist and rich, guessing it was well within his price range when it came to buying food.

“It's good, right?” She asks innocently and he nods. It certainly was by his standards. But he senses the atmosphere cleared from the few hours previous. It was good. Exceptionally so.

**Author's Note:**

> Rated M cos Petyr's a potty mouth and for future...reference. *smirk*


End file.
